


The Guide and his Sentinel

by robinfan2



Series: The Good Guide [5]
Category: Batman (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: M/M, Triggers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-31
Updated: 2016-05-12
Packaged: 2017-12-31 01:24:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1025660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robinfan2/pseuds/robinfan2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jason kissed Tim, setting off a chain reaction that threatens to unravel the Guide's already frayed relationship with his Sentinel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Heartbreak Warfare

His Sentinel has set a fast pace. Nightwing had merely given Red Robin a nod before flying off, giving Tim barely enough time to grab his duffel. Still Tim follows, Red Hood's words still ringing in his ears.

"Call me if things go south, Baby Bird!" Jason had shouted after them, making sure the other Sentinel heard as well. "Call me!"

It's clear night, warm yet the wind crispy cool. A perfect night to fly around the city, Dick would say. But Dick... Dick's not saying it. And they're not flying. Not in the real sense of the word. Red Robin and Nightwing are merely firing their grappling guns as they move from one rooftop to another.

There are no unnecessary twists, leaps and rolls. No witty quips or tasteless puns either. That isn't Nightwing. Not the Nightwing Tim grew up with or adores.

Nightwing spares him a glance to check if he's still following. Red Robin is tempted to disengage. Disobey. Just so he can set the agenda. But he knows it won't end well if he gives in to the temptation. He needs to know where this will lead to and see it through its end.

Nightwing lands silently on the fire escape of a five-storey brick building, flanked at all sides by old, mostly abandoned office buildings.The window Nightwing's sliding open faces the windowless rear of those buildings, mitigating risk of anyone seeing two vigilantes enter the safe house. Red Robin swings across to the open window at Nightwing's gesture. He slips in and finds himself in the kitchen. 

_It's true then!_ he marvels, looking around in awe. The rumour Nightwing keeps a safe house free from the prying eyes of the Oracle and the Batman. And it's right here in Old Gotham. In the sliver between two buildings the Clocktower can be seen, radiant under the silver light of the moon. All the time the almost mythical safe house is here. _Hiding in plain sight._

It is small though. Spartan. A fridge, a two-burner cooking range atop the counter near the sink and a square wooden table are the only items in the kitchen. There's a two-seater between the kitchen and the double bed at the other end of the studio. There are two doors. One is near the kitchen, leading out to the hallway. The other is at the foot of the bed, leading to the bathroom. There are no other windows.

He sees an indulgence though - the widescreen, 60-inch LED TV attached to the wall opposite the bed. Now _that_ is Dick.

Tim turns around, scanning the white walls for the tell-tale signs of a camera. There is none. This studio is truly Oracle-free. He admires Dick's cleverness. To be able to hide this safe house from Bruce or from Babs is no easy feat. But he never gets to tell Dick this.

"What was that?" Dick's snarl flies across the space between them. "What was that, Tim? You're my Guide! You're my fucking Guide and you kissed him!"

His Sentinel's aura reaches out and begins to slowly suffocate him, rage vying with lust. Tim's emotional barrier cracks at the onslaught. Nightwing is a very powerful Sentinel; he and the Batman are a class of their own. Because Dick is a nice guy, people sometimes forget given the right motivation he can give as much pain as Bruce. 

And right now, Tim is feeling the pain. He feels the bile rising from the pit of his stomach and he'd like nothing more than to run to the toilet and hurl.

"Stop it, Dick! Stop it! You're hurting me!"

Nightwing stills, staring at him for a long time. He then feels the Sentinel's aura withdraw slightly. It's still there, hovering, Tim's own aura held captive. But he can breathe freely again.

"You kissed him, Tim. You kissed _him_."

He hears the hurt and desperation in Dick's voice. And Tim is confused. Surely Dick's not taking that kiss seriously?

"Dick, it was a joke." He feels the Sentinel's aura whip around him. "Please, Dick, you know Jason and I didn't mean anything by it."

"You're lying!" 

"It's for the latte!" Tim feels his eyes sting as Dick slams him against the wall. "It's... it's for the free latte, Dick."

"D'you think I'd fall for that?" Incredulity marks the Sentinel's face. "Do you sleep with him?"

"It's Jason, Dick. He's like a bro -"

Nightwing slams him again before gripping his throat. "Do you _fuck_ him? Tell me!"

"Dick, you're angry. I can understand that. You're also overwhelmed by that... that need." He blushes even as his voice is calm. "You won't bring me here unless you're desperate." He feels the Sentinel loosen his hold. "I can help you fix that... need, so it won't get unbearable. But I can't fix it and handle your anger at the same time. It has to be one or the other, Dick. Which one will it be?"

Nightwing remains unmoving, presence sinister in the darkness. But Tim knows he has reached him.

Tim staggers forward when Dick suddenly removes his hand. 

"Take a shower," Dick commands, coldly. "You _stink_."

 _That's it then,_ Tim thinks bitterly. His Sentinel is asserting his claim, teaching his Guide a lesson, and whatever other point Dick is making. He wonders how Alfred and Babs do it, resisting command voices. Then he remembers Babs telling him that Batman and Nightwing never used it on them, never even dared to think of using it on them. 

But Tim's not Babs or Alfred. He's just Tim. Rich kid from Bristol. Guide Second-Class. Bonded to one of the most powerful Sentinels. Bonded under duress. Bonded out of duty. Out of pity.

He grabs his duffel from the floor and obeys.

***

He is taking longer than is usual. Taking his clothes off. There are complications to his uniform but it's not the booby traps. No. Not at all. 

It's fear.

Pure and simple fear.

There's a narrow window atop the toilet. An escape. But that's the easy way. Taking it won't help any. It won't take him away from his failure. As Dick's Guide Tim can ask for intimacy without risk of rejection. A Sentinel cannot and will never deny his or her Guide's request for affection. It is their nature. Tim knows this. He could have gone to Dick's usual place and asserted his rights earlier. Much earlier. Instead he allowed his Sentinel to stay away for far too long. Allowed his insecurities to restrain him. His need for Dick to want him as more than someone who could stabilise his Sentinel abilities has brought them both into this mess.

Now Tim has to fix this. 

He steps into the shower, turns on the taps, and lifts his face up to the warmth. 

_You're better than this!_ he scolds himself in his head. _You've been against the Joker, King Snake, Lady Shiva, and you're scared of having sex with your Sentinel. Get it together, Tim!_

He startles at the hand on his shoulder and flushes as he sees Dick's hand reach for the soap before him. He keeps his eyes on the taps, yet he feels the Sentinel's eyes bear hard on him, searching and yearning. And as with the bonding, Tim begins to pull down his emotional barrier before Dick could use that hated command voice again.

He feels vulnerable as Dick lathers them both, scrubbing off the grime and smell of the city. Dick's scarred hands are large and they boldly lay their claim on Tim's skin. Every inch. The Sentinel's body is firm and warm against his back, his hardness grazing the small of Tim's back.

Tim closes his eyes and lets outs a nervous sigh. There is a long, long pause before he feels a hand gently fall on his nape. A thumb, warm and reassuring, traces the spine along his neck. Slowly stroking.

Tim begins to shake. Myriad emotions, long protected and denied far too often, have begun to overwhelm him. He is afraid. He fears he will lose himself in them, never to regain control ever again. To be revealed and be at the mercy of the Sentinel. The Sentinel he loves so desperately.

"Tim," Dick's voice is thick and husky. "Tim, I don't want to hurt you. You believe that, don't you?"

Tim turns his head and for the first time that night sees the Sentinel's dark blue eyes. The irises are blown wide open. Tim knows he'll be hurt regardless of Dick's words or attempts at restraining his want. They have been apart too long, the sexual requirement of their relationship unfulfilled since the bonding. 

The soapy sponge drops to the shower floor as the Sentinel pulls him closer. Tim knows he will bruise.


	2. Slow Dancing in a Burning Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick can't help but hurt the one he loves.

His eyes never waver from the face before him. He's afraid. So scared this is all a dream. Not real. A delirium that rose from his lust, his need long unassuaged. That this vision would vanish like a wisp of smoke if he so much averts his eyes.

Tim's gentle blue eyes stare back at him. Comforting him. Soothing him even as he assails his Guide with every frantic thrust of his hips. This must be hurting him. He has Tim pinned down with his weight, arms held at his sides, knees drawn far apart. Droplets of his own sweat patter on Tim's pale face like summer rain. Sees the bruises he had earlier bitten on Tim's neck and shoulders. The welts his fingers pressed on his Guide's arms, hips and thighs. The swollen lips, made so not by Dick's mouth.

Still there is no blame in Tim's eyes. He looks at him with eyes that say, _Yes, I know the good and the bad in you. But I love you, anyway._ Dick knows this. He's seen that look many times before. Because Tim does know him. And Tim never fails to come when Dick calls.

He feels sick with shame and self-disgust. But he can't stop himself. He needs to feel Tim's body against him. Needs to claim him. Compelled to take what is his. Hungers for release.

As he nears the precipice, his breath shortens, his thrusts quicken and deepen. He hears a slight whimper, but ignores it. Pain flickers across Tim's face, but this only spurs him to thrust more forcibly. His Guide struggles to free his hands - the first time he did so this night. He merely tightens his hold, pressing his weight, pinning Tim close to immobility.

"D-Dick..." 

In a single moment, Dick's awareness takes in the musky smell of sex, the taste of panic on Tim's cheek, the violent slap of flesh against quivering flesh, and the warm clench on his manhood. He grunts then, and bites. Bites deeply, drawing blood. And finally sweet release... He spills in his Guide. Empties himself wantonly and selfishly for what must be the fifth time that night in the one person he should be protecting.

He thrusts once more before collapsing on his Guide, his face hidden at the crook of Tim's abused neck. He wants to say something. _Sorry. I'm so, so sorry._ He has to say something.

"This is so wrong," he slurs. _No, no, that's not it!_ "All wrong," he blurts out just as blessed exhaustion pulls him in.


	3. Love Song for No One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim vows not to cry, but fails.

_I will not cry,_ he tells himself, as he gingerly slips into his jeans, wincing a little.

He's stiff. He's sore. He's tired. 

But he's been through worst. The Contagion. The Silent Plague. Killer Croc. Lady Shiva. A brick on the face.

He wipes the dampness from his eyes. _I will not cry,_ he chastises himself even as he kneels beside the bed to check on his Sentinel.

Dick's aura has stabilised and pulled back into him. Sleeping, his handsome features reflecting peace and contentment, one wouldn't think this is the same person who hours earlier held Tim's aura in a vice-like grip with his own, choking him with its smothering presence. The man whose touch - normally tender on those he cares for - was brutal on Tim last night.

"I love you, you know," Tim whispers, dejectedly. "So much it hurts."

The feeling of shame overwhelms him then. The shame that comes from knowing he will never be anything more than a Guide to this Sentinel. No more than the boy Dick fucks because he is obliged to. Worse than a whore. Dick's personal, living sex toy.

He rises, careful not to disturb the man's sleep. As he shuffles to the door, pain shooting up in waves, he reminds himself, _I will not cry._


	4. Split Screen Sadness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick sees Tim through Jason's eyes.

His inner clock tells him it's bright outside.

His training tells him there's someone here with him who's not his Guide.

"How's it hanging, Dick?"

He pushes himself up and strides towards Jason who is leaning back against the wall facing the bed.

"Dinah might pay good money to see your mighty dong, but frankly," Jason snorts, loudly. "I'm not impressed."

"You!" 

Jason merely lifts his eyebrow at Dick's barely controlled rage.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Jay? Why the fuck are _you_ even here?"

"To help out a friend. You know, Tim. Your Guide."

Dick growls. He can't remember of any other time he had growled that loudly.

"You kissed my Guide, Jason. You kissed _my_ Guide! I should skin you for that!"

His brother's face is stone cold. "You ignored your Guide for nearly two weeks and now you're jealous over -"

"You keep your hands off my Guide!" he snarls, his fists clenching. "You'd do well to remember _I'm_ his Sentinel."

"Then fucking act like it!"

He sees Jason roll with the punch but he knows his fist has connected. He takes deep breaths as Jason wipes off the blood from his lips.

"Feelin' better now? You won't get another."

Dick snorts before turning away. Hitting Jason doesn't feel as good as he first thought.

"What are you doing here, Jason?" he asks, wearily, trudging towards the bathroom.

"I told you - helping out a friend. And, maybe, a brother, too."

Dick turns back, sharply. His sibling has begun stripping the sheets off the mattress.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Jason rolls his eyes. "You don't want them ruined, do you? I don't know what went on here - fuck, I don't even wanna know! But I _am_ throwing these sheets in the laundry. Capische?"

They glare at each other.

"Fine." Dick raises his hands in defeat, a small grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Just don't forget the pillows."

He then discovers that thrown with just enough force even a bundle of 500-thread cotton beddings can knock you right off your feet.

***

Dick has to hand it to his brother - Jason picks the best greasy spoon. 

This has to be the best buttermilk-pancake-sausage-and-eggs-fried-in-butter combo he ever had. And the drip coffee's not bad either.

"I knew you'd like it," grins Jason, motioning with his bacon-laden fork. "Tim told me you're not adverse to an occasional, gut-busting meal."

"He's eaten here?"

"Sure."  


"You're dating my Guide now?"

Jason puts down his fork, exasperated. "Give it a break, Grayson! Not every meal is a date."

"Fair enough. But you kissed him. You kissed your so-called friend. You say there's nothing there." He takes a sip of his coffee. "Anytime now."

Jason sighs, carding his fingers through his red hair. "I don't know why I kissed him. I didn't mean to. I don't know what came over me."

His brother sits back and stares out the window, watching the neighbourhood's usual bustle come to life. "First time I met Tim, his blood was on the tip of my blade. I felt his aura, calming and so optimistic. I hated it... It was confusing me. I was angry but his aura..." Jason shakes his head. "I even broke into Titans Tower to... to... I don't know what I was thinking. Beat him senseless. Maybe it would stop. Prove I'm strong enough. I really don't know."

Jason returns to his food. "Being near Tim helps me think clearly. I'm grateful for every day, every minute he lets me stand by his side."

"So Tim's aura makes you feel all nice and sane. That still doesn't explain why you kissed your _friend_ who, by the way, is bonded to me."

His brother throws him a look of pure frustration. "We are Sentinels, Dick," he grunts, angrily. "We are sensitive to Guides. I'm no less immune to Tim than you are, and Tim's aura is one of the strongest there is. Hell, you've seen him stabilise Helena, Selina, Bruce. Even the goddam Joker!"

"Tim is strong," Dick admits, remembering his Guide's warm presence. "Potent."

"Exactly. And since your Bonding, Tim's aura has been throwing off all sorts of fucking emotions left and right. It's so painful watching him try to keep it together."

"Last night -"

"Last night, he was so fucking sad. We've just closed down a meth lab, beat up some mooks, and Tim's still inconsolable. He was heartsick, Dick. He was so broken. Hanging by a thread. Trying to be all so cheerful. He's so... so..."

Jason struggles, stares at him and finally groans, "Beautiful." 

Jason looks relieved at Dick's slight smile. "Tim was so breathtakingly beautiful, Dick. I wanted to make him feel better. Assure him everything's going to be okay. But his aura... I tried. I really, really tried. But I just had to kiss him. I had to." He barks a small, mirthless laugh. "Tim thought it was for a free latte."

Dick carefully takes in his brother's words. "His aura... hard to resist sometimes. It's always felt like that. Nice. Warm."

Jason nods. "You're one lucky bastard."

They eat in silence, Dick willing for his brother to let a few things remain unsaid. He understands only too fully Tim's effect on others, especially Sentinels. Tim draws people in. Dick had begun coming back to Gotham after Tim became Robin. The Huntress folded into the Bat family because Red Robin coaxed her into it. Even Poison Ivy has a soft spot for Batman's former partner.

"Why, Dick? Why did Tim let it get this far?" Jason asks, suddenly, truly worried. "Tim has always been efficient with doing what's necessary. So good at it he scares me sometimes. Why didn't he call you? Why didn't he fucking assert his rights as your Guide? What's stopped him?"

"I'm surprised he never told you," Dick says, wryly, draining his cup and motioning for a refill. He gives the waitress a disarming smile after she tops off his cup. 

"Tim keeps his cards close to his chest." Jason flicks him a sardonic glance. "Kinda like you."

"Tim is nothing like me."

"Damn straight - Tim's smart!"

They both laugh and Dick realises they'll be alright. That they can now talk. Really talk.

"Australia..." It's Dick's turn to sit back and be uncomfortable. "That was the second time Tim made the offer."

Jason sharply looks up from his food, eyes narrowing. "You didn't -"

Dick nods. "I turned him down first time."

"Damn!" His brother is shaking his head. "Damn!" Jason jabs his fork angrily.

"Jay," Dick rubs his eyes, wearily. "He was so young."

"We kissed our childhoods goodbye the moment we signed in Batman's crusade. With what he's seen, learned and done, Tim is older than any of his peers. We're practically old men by the time we reached twenty-one, Dick."

Jason's holding the butter knife like he'd like to stab Dick with it.

"Dick, he's in love with you. For the longest time. And you've been staking your claim since the Silent Plague. You want him. You've always wanted him."

"I couldn't accept the offer, Jay. He was drunk!"

"Drunk? You got him drunk?"

"We were celebrating. He just turned eighteen."

"Man, I've gotten Tim rip-roaring drunk myself and it was a bitch to get him to spill. Hard to believe Tim would ask you to be his Sentinel if he wasn't sure about how you'd take it - drunk or not."

Dick fiddles with the salt shaker, unable to swipe off the guilt he's feeling. "I... Well, I commanded him to tell me his deepest secret."

Jason gapes at him. "You used the command voice?"

"Yup." Saying it feels like a punishment.

"Damn, Dick, you are an _asshole_!"

He watches his brother angrily finish off his pancakes. Jason asks for a coffee refill before turning back to Dick.

"When did you start looking at him, Dick? Really look at him. When did you get all hot and hard standing in the same room with him?"

"I was undercover with the Mob. When Tim and Cass took over Bludhaven."

"And you kept it in this long?" Jason sounds incredulous. "Man, I don't know whether to shoot you or fucking bash you! You should tell him. He deserves to know."

"Don't you think I've always wanted to tell him? It's not that simple, Jay. Tim and I go a long way back as pseudo-brothers. Transition into being lovers is a whole lot of different."

"It's too late for any sort of transition. You've bonded. You've fucked." Jason 's voice took on an angry tone. "Fucked him so bad he could hardly walk last night. I followed him to make sure he got home okay."

Dick gets the message loud and clear: _I did your fucking job, Dick! I was more of Tim's Sentinel than you ever were these last fucking days!_

"Dick," He meets his brother's exasperated eyes. "Tim put you on top of the list."

He glares at Jason, unbelieving.

Jason nods, sadly. "Tim chose you. Despite of what you've fucking done, how you treated him, Tim chose you."

"How did you -"

"I broke into Bruce's safe."

"Jason, we don't -"

"Oh, come on, Dick! Don't say you haven't thought about it." Jason chuckles. "I got into that safe sooner than anybody else, is all."

He nods. "That you did, Little Wing. That you did." He smiles up to the waitress who takes their used plates away. "He was so angry that night we bonded, Jay," he says, quietly. 

"Of course he was, idiot! But not with you," Jason answers, softly, almost laughing. "He was forced into sex. To be bonded. And in a dirty outhouse at that! Under duress!"

Dick winces.

"You know what really irks me, Goldie. You've got him all this time... Tim's always been yours, but..."

_You've never taken good care of him,_ Dick finishes for him in his head.


	5. Continuum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hell's broken loose and Red Robin still needs a signed permission slip.

Damian's pulling on his gauntlets when he arrives at the Batcave. Bruce is already Batman but his cowl is still pulled off. They do not need to turn to know Red Robin's come near to look at the monitors.

News agencies from all over the world are reporting unusual growth of trees, weeds, anything botanical. It's not so serious yet to endanger the local populace but it might reach dangerous levels in a week. The epicentre of the phenomenon seems to be Gotham City's Robinson Park where much activity is taking place. The activity being Jason Woodrue, the Floronic man, spouting off invectives and diatribes on the supremacy of plants over humanity.

"Do we know what he really wants, Father?" Robin asks. "Is it world domination again?"

"He wants Pamela Isley."

"Poison Ivy?"

"Pamela can control plants, too, but on a more localised level. Woodrue is partially responsible for her change to Poison Ivy and they worked together a few times. However, this time Pamela doesn't want to have anything to do with him."

"Woodrue's motivation?"

"Would you believe romance?"

The Robins groan.

"Where'd you stashed her?" Red Robin asks.

"Watchtower."

Tim nods. "Nice." He coughs, slightly. "Bruce? A word?"

Bruce motions for Damian to keep an eye on the monitors before following Tim towards the hangar. His mentor's hand on his shoulder is heavy yet comforting.

"I want you to sit this one out, Tim."

"I'm _fine_ , Bruce." He cards his hair with slightly shaking fingers. He didn't get much rest when he got home, drifting in and out of a disturbed sleep. He's tired. His body feels sore, unaligned. His confidence shot. But he is Red Robin and a Guide. And he has civilians and Sentinels to protect.

"Tim, please. Your shield -"

"My emotional barrier is intact. Strong enough."

"I need you to keep an eye on the monitors, coordinate rescues and analyse the data coming in."

"You already have the Oracle, Bruce. She is more than capable." 

"I don't want you in the field, boy. You have yet to stabilise your emotional shield and your aura's like a beacon to Sentinels within a five-mile radius. You also have a slight limp." 

_A limp?_ He admits wincing occasionally but a limp? He takes a step back. _Oh, that limp! That's, uh, a sore... oh well... a limp then._

"A compromise then," Tim offers.

"Compromise?"

"I'll stay away from the main fray if you lend me the Batwing."

Bruce's eyes narrow. "What do you need it for, Tim?" 

"I'm getting help."

He feels his mentor's eyes searching for clues and signs of distress. He'd find a lot of the latter for sure.

"Tim, the only way to end this is putting down Jason Woodrue. The Justice League and the Titans are coordinating rescue operations and crowd control as well as formulating strategy as we speak." Batman squeezes his arm. "No other help is needed."

"Woodrue's done this before, Bruce. Convinced the Green to suffocate the earth with oxygen."

"The Green?"

_Oops._

"The plants. Woodrue talked the plants and trees into growing at an abnormal pace to increase the amount of oxygen to toxic levels. The Justice League couldn't do anything about it."

"That was resolved -"

"With no one knowing how the whole thing came to a resolution. The Gre- The plants rolled back their growth, Hal and Clark arrested Woodrue, oxygen levels normalised. Nobody knows who stopped it. The event relegated to one of your casebooks. A mystery."

"Are you saying you know what happened then? How Woodrue was stopped? Who broke his arm? Who convinced the world's plant life to stop emitting dangerous levels of oxygen?"

Tim faces the Batman with his best poker face. "I have a theory." A theory proven in the humid swamps of Louisiana where Tim went a few months ago. To gather samples for his Botany class.

"If you tell me who your friend is, where he is, I can ask Clark to pick him up -"

Tim shakes his head and states his case. "Bruce, you know as well as I do that our work necessitates secrecy. All I can tell you is this secret won't put the Mission or anyone at risk." His Friend never asked him to keep his existence a secret, but Red Robin respects the importance of secrecy.

Bruce sighs, shaking his head, morosely. "If it's up to me, boy, I'd let you go. I trust you can handle yourself when danger arises. And I know you don't take unnecessary risks. But you're bonded, Tim. In times like this and when you're not at your optimum, your Sentinel needs to decide."

"But Bruce," he pleads, desperately. "I am Red Robin. That has _not_ changed."

"I am sorry." Batman grips his shoulder before letting go and walking away.

And just then, Nightwing and Red Hood ride in.

***

He sees them talking before the monitors and feels them glance his way. He ignores them, choosing to curl into himself and think of a way to escape the Batcave with the aircraft. He is so deep in thought he doesn't notice Nightwing striding over until he can smell the Kevlar on Dick's suit.

"Care to share, Tim? What's going on in that brain of yours?"

Tim resists the temptation to cross his arms. "Batman has already briefed you. It's just a matter of you either letting me go or benching me." He pushes himself from the Batwing to walk away. "From the look of things, I won't be going anywhere."

Behind him he feels Nightwing spring and land on the seam connecting the aircraft's wing to the fuselage. He turns and looks at his Sentinel enquiringly. Dick motions for him.

Tim walks back, hops and finds himself hoisted by his arms the rest of the way. He climbs into the open cockpit and begins reciting his passcode. He slips into the Red Robin mode as soon as the aircraft's computer clears his access and begins the pre-flight checklist. 

"Anything else I can help you with?"

He has almost forgotten about Nightwing, who's crouching before him beside the cockpit, watching him intently.

"Please turn off the trackers. Just for an hour."

"Half an hour."

"Fifty minutes."

"Forty."

"Forty-five."

He feels Nightwing's eyes boring into him through the white lenses of the mask.

"Forty-five." Nightwing sighs. The Sentinel then rubs his forehead. A sign of stress. "Tim, did you mean it? What you said earlier? Just before you left the safe house?"

_He heard._ Tim pauses from calibrating the Batwing's panel controls. When he faces his Sentinel, he finds he has lost any ability to blush over revealing his emotions. He is Dick's and it is useless to lie.

"Yes." It is a relief to admit it. How his Sentinel would use this information is up to Dick. Tim's beyond caring.

Nightwing continues to stare, as if seeing his Guide for the first time. _He is thinking how to let me down easy,_ he muses, sadly. Tim wants to say Dick doesn't need to. He knows. He already knows the Sentinel does not want him.

Nightwing reaches out, his hand gently holding Tim's nape, pulling him closer. And there it is - the kiss on his brow, warm and reassuring. Tim feels his eyes sting. He misses this. This wonderful aspect of their relationship. His mentor, his big brother, his friend. Giving his approval. Affirmation he believes in Tim. Trusts him completely. 

He can't help but grip Dick's wrist. At this moment, if his Sentinel asked him to stay Tim would gladly abandon his quest to bask in the older man's nearness. He'd do anything Dick would ask. Anything.

"Come back, okay?" Nightwing's voice is hoarse. Tim simply nods. He no longer trusts himself to speak.

Tim then feels a thumb brush against his lips, tenderly with a hint of concern. He sees the blue stripe on Nightwing's fingers gleam, reflecting the lights off the ceiling lamps, as Dick slowly pulls back his hand and kisses his thumb.

A simple gesture. A reminder he is Dick's lover, too.


	6. Belief

“You let him go.”

It's an accusation.

“You’re disappointed.”

Batman shrugs. "Merely concerned. I think it's best if he stays here and help with the coordination. His emotional barrier is unstable and Tim does not seem to be at his best. Still his analytical prowess and strategising will be much needed if things go south in the field."

"Tt!"

They turn to the scowling Robin, who's very much ensconced in Batman's chair.

"You have anything to say on the matter, son?"

"You all know Red Robin longer than I. Has he ever indulged in anything frivolous in this sort of situation?"

Batman breaks the one minute silence.

"Superboy and Robin almost levelled Tokyo while piloting two of Hiro Okamura's mechas -"

"Hot damn! Really?"

"Todd -"

"Man, why don't I know this?"

"Grayson -"

"If Clark and I weren't there -"

"Father, please!"

Damian harrumps in exasperation before turning the seat away from the monitors.

“Are we in agreement that Red Robin’s deductive and analytical skills are dependable and that he bases his actions strongly upon these abilities?”

They nod. 

“Then I see no reason to restrain Red Robin from his task. If Drake has come to the conclusion this outside help is necessary for our victory, then it must be so.”

“Nevertheless, Master Damian,” interrupts Alfred, walking over with a plate of sandwiches. “Master Timothy is quite vulnerable at this time. He is weary and is need of sleep."

“Tt! I really do not understand this propensity to coddle Drake." Damian takes a sandwich. “Someone who can dispense with the Leopard’s Blow does not need mother hens clucking over him.”

“What?”

“Holy fuck!”

“Why don’t I know this?”

The current Robin smirks at them before turning back to the monitors. “That, Grayson, is something you have to ask your Guide. Drake is quite talented at hiding his many... talents." He barks a small laugh. "When you bonded with Drake you have... how do they say this? Oh, _hit the jackpot_. You’re a fool not to have seen it.”

***

He removes his mask, gauntlets and cape, and wears a trench coat over his uniform. It’s too hot and humid to wear a jacket in the swamp lands but he cannot be seen as Red Robin without his mask. And his Friend may not recognise him with it.

He opens the cockpit and gingerly makes his way down to the muddy ground. It would be faster to jump. That is, if he isn’t wincing at every jerky movement he’s making. He’s still sore and his enormous sleep debt is not helping any. 

But his mind is clear. Clearer than it’s ever been these last few days. Maybe it’s because he has a task before him, something he can sink his teeth into as Red Robin, something that can make him forget Tim Drake, if only for awhile.

He closes his eyes and draws strength from the memory of his Sentinel gently kissing his brow. One action that managed to repair his tattered confidence. He shakes his head, ashamed that someone has so much power over him.

The Batwing silently cloaks up, camouflaging itself against the field of yellow wildflowers, even as he slips the tiny remote in one of his belt compartments and walks towards where the cypress trees crowd tightly. 

Where he met his Friend months ago when he, as Timothy Drake, pre-med student, was gathering plant samples for his Botany class. He had separated from his friends to surreptitiously deactivate the homemade explosives scattered in the swamp. Small bombs meant to kill the coypus or river rats destroying the wetlands’s ecosystem. Explosives that also killed indigenous flora and fauna that make the bayou their home. He had emailed Bruce later to ask if Wayne Enterprises could conduct some research into reducing or eliminating the nutria population without causing further environmental damage in the Louisiana swamplands.

As he stretched, resting from deactivating the last of the homemade explosives, he had backed into a tall mossy, green lump of... of tree? He thought it was a tree because of the roots sticking out all over, the leaves and the birds flitting over it. Until he saw the eyes... and the mouth... The strange face obviously amused.

“Back. So. Soon. Sapling.”

Swamp Thing. The locals call this urban myth, the Swamp Thing. 

For Tim, he’s Friend. A friend who told him he could also call him Swampy because it amuses him.

Overwhelmed by how quickly he finds his Friend, he hugs the elemental, taking in the sweet, fresh smell of grass, feeling the texture of healthy leaves in his hands, and listening to the soft, deep, treeish chuckle. Tim feels young.

"Hooom. Little. Dragon. Why... have you... Come?"

"I need your help, Friend. I need your help to stop the trees and plants from growing too rapidly."

"Hmm?" 

The giant mass of living flora lifts his head, closes his eyes as he strains and seems to hear voices only he can. 

"Jason. Woodrue." The Swamp Thing sighs, shaking his head. "Mischief. Again."

"I thought all plant life would learn from last time, would remember Woodrue's insane."

"There. Are. Saplings. Shoots. Seedlings. Not. Aware. Dreams. Of. Freedom. From. Human. Cruelty. Still. Alive."

"There are some of us who try, Friend." His shoulders droop. "I know we haven't done enough but we're trying."

The elemental looks down at him and seems to grin. "I. Will. Help."

"Great! My transport is right over -"

Swamp Thing seems close to laughter. "Go. Little. Dragon."

"What? Aren't you coming -"

"Be. My. Envoy." He is gently pushing Tim away.

"What... What should I say?"

"Their. Master. Is. Displeased."

"And Woodrue?" He calls after the Swamp Thing who is already fast disappearing into the marshlands.

"Retreat."

"And if he refuses?"

_Hoom_.

That's all Tim hears.

_Hoom_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, JRR Tolkien for teaching us how trees talk.


	7. Wildfire

They are at a standoff, the heroes with more to lose if they blink. That's what it looks like from the rooftop overlooking Robinson Park. 

_Superman. Wonder Woman. Batman. Martian Manhunter. Green Lantern. Zatanna._

_Superboy. Wonder Girl. Kid Flash._

_Huntress. Red Hood. Robin. Nightwing. And Oracle in the background._

Big hitters all. All held at bay by that bozo standing over a huge mound of leaves and bark and twigs. Said bozo goes by Floronic Man who hides his man bits under leafy underwear. Red Robin vows to swear off making fun of Dick's and Jason's scaly green panties if he comes out of this caper alive.

Bozo's name is Jason Woodrue, a former scientist who somehow found a way to make himself plant-like and to talk with the Green, which years ago he had convinced to poison all non-plant life with oxygen. The Swamp Thing defeated him somehow and the Justice League sent the insane man into an asylum.

Now the bozo's back at it again. Same _modus operandi_. Same leafy underwear. But this time, Woodrue's doing it for a sick, personal cause - to fuck Poison Ivy. He has hidden this agenda from the Green in the guise of helping them to free themselves from the tyranny of creatures that breathe out carbon dioxide.

Tim drinks his water bottle empty before throwing it in the recycling bin. He's ready. He may not be feeling a hundred percent, but he's ready. 

Red Robin will take that bozo down.

***

An impasse. 

Nightwing hates no-win situations. Hates having to listen - on the Martian's telepathic link no less - to the debate on the needs of the many outweighing the needs of the few. Poison Ivy is counted among Batman's fiercest enemies. Yet to use her as a bargaining chip is cruel. No one deserves such a fate. And Jason Woodrue is not a trustworthy man.

"Ten minutes." The Floronic Man gloats. "Or mediation between you and the Green ceases. Then all non-plant life will wither and die."

"If we surrender Poison Ivy to you, do you guarantee the plants to and trees to arrest their excessive growth?" Wonder Woman asks.

The villain laughs, madly. "The Plant Lord guarantees nothing! He's merely the vessel through which the Green speaks!"

"He really is insane!" Huntress hisses. "What's the point of talking with this yoyo? And what is the Green?"

"It's a collective comprised of the life force of all plants on earth," Zatanna answers. 

"Can't you tap into it, Z?" Nightwing asks.

"The Green's not the most... trusting of mystical entities."

Superboy interrupts the ongoing debate. "Yo! I've got Red Robin on my commlink. He wants to join the mind-meld."

In an instant Red Robin's in their heads, asking to be allowed to engage the Floronic Man.

"No!"

All those linked mentally wince. Except Batman. 

Red Robin reveals himself by stepping from behind a tree. There's still that stiffness in his movements and the paleness in his face. Nightwing is sorely tempted to cross the distance and hold his Guide close.

"Batman, I can do this," the Guide pleads. "You have to trust me."

"Stand down, boy. You're in over your head."

Bruce is worried. The harshness of his tone and his words belie his concern.

"Can you really do it, Red?" Nightwing interrupts. "Stop this madness?"

"Nightwing -"

He holds up a hand to stop Batman from interfering. His Guide needs to be heard.

"Red Robin," he softly calls in his mind.

Tim turns and locks his eyes on him behind the white lenses of his black cowl. He feels the anxiety and a sense of resignation oozing from the young vigilante. Nobody should feel so helpless.

"Can you stop him?" 

Tim nods.

"Okay."

"Nightwing -"

"I am his Sentinel, B. I say we do what Red Robin wants. It's not like we have an alternative."

"You are endangering his life!" Batman almost yells.

"We are _all_ in danger." He sighs and smiles at his Guide, wryly. "How can we help?"

He sees Tim hesitate. But only for a slight second before Red Robin returns to the fore.

"I need to get in there. Then, telepathic link blackout for ten minutes."

"Five."

"Eight."

Nightwing shakes his head, smiling grimly. "Five. There are three hostages inside, suffering from hyperoxia. They don't have much time left."

Red Robin nods. "Five then."

"Uh-oh! Semi-naked old dude's back inside the barrow!" Kid Flash warns, zipping around.

Red Robin lifts his eyes towards the Green Lantern floating near. "Mr Gardner?" he calls with his mind.

"Way ahead of you, kid! And call me Guy."

"Just don't harm any plants, sir. Umm... Guy."

"That wasn't so hard, eh, kid? Now be quick!"

The Green Lantern's ring creates a construct of two giant hands that plunges into the wall of thick vines and leaves and pushes them apart wide enough to let Red Robin through. Tim throws Nightwing a slight smile, then slips in as the gap closes behind him.

It hurts not to follow.


	8. Speak for Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The showdown.

As soon as he's inside, all doubts and thoughts of his Sentinel vanish from his mind as he focuses on battle at hand. It's almost dark inside the mound, yet light filters in through the spaces between branches and leaves. He sees a man, a woman and two children lying on the muddy ground, held down by vines and gnarly roots. They are unconscious. Unmoving. They have not long to go.

Tim takes a step and suddenly thick, thorny vines coil around him, gripping him tightly and painfully. He tries to push them off with his bo but only manages to slip an arm through to protect his face. His other hand is holding a pellet filled with a strong herbicide he's hoping he won't be using.

"What is this?" 

Tim turns towards the whiny, high voice coming from the darkest spot in the barrow. Woodrue is slowly walking towards him, incredulous and upset. The half man-half plant pauses as if to study him before gripping his chin and turning his face from side to side. He feels a thorn scrape his exposed jaw.

"A child," he sneers. "They sent a lowly child to challenge me."

"I'm not a child," Tim snorts. "And I'm here to kick your butt!"

The Floronic Man's nails scratch him as he slaps Tim's face.

"You are not worthy of even being in my presence," he snaps. "Don't you realise, sapling, who I am?"

Tim almost laughs but chooses to speak blandly. "Woodrue, Jason. Aka Floronic Man. Self-proclaimed Plant Lord. Sanctimonious, schizophrenic jerk with delusions of grandeur."

The rogue's leaf-like hair bristle and at a slight gesture the vines holding Red Robin tighten, thorns breaching his armour and wounding the skin underneath. He almost drops the pellet.

"Man, my predecessors look cool in their green panties beside you," he taunts. "What's your excuse, Mister-Half-Naked Creep?"

"Uncultured whelp!" Woodrue sneers. "Who are you to spout insults upon me, worthless bird? I am the Plant Lord. I am the vessel through which the Green speaks. At my word alone, I can snap you like dry twig."

"I am Red Robin," Tim declares, ignoring the ever tightening hold of the vines and the deepening press of thorns. "And you are a liar. You do not represent the Green. You do not do this for their benefit. You are horny for Ivy and you just can't put a sock on it. Worse, you are using the Green to do your nasty work."

Woodrue stares at him for a moment, then laughs, sinisterly. "You dare? You dare challenge my position with the Green? Ah, boy, I shall draw much pleasure from killing you. Albeit slowly."

Tim then wonders what he needs to do next. His lips are tingling and he's finding it hard to think. _Hyperoxia,_ he deduces. It must be the over abundance of oxygen in the barrow. He shakes his head slightly and struggles to keep his lunch down.

"Hear me." Seeing Woodrue about to reply, he snaps, "Not you, you psychotic wacko. I am addressing the Green."

"Hear me," he repeats, loudly now, as the vines squeeze even tighter. "Hear me for I have spoken to one who walks the balmy swamps of Louisiana. He has made me his emissary. Your master comes and shall put things to right. He does this because I pleaded my plight. I, a friend to the Protector of the Green."

Woodrue stares at him curiously.

"I come in behalf of he who is with and is the Green," he continues, his breathing ragged. "He has rightful privilege to pass judgment upon this interloper, this fraud whose actions are cast towards destruction. His is not the way of the Green. It is the way of man."

"You lie!" Woodrue snarls, striding towards him. "I am the Voice of the Green! I fight for their dominion. I am a vessel through which their will is made apparent."

"No, Woodrue. You are not of the Green. You are an insane man who uses chemicals to make yourself look plant-like. A pretender -"

He stifles a gasp at the pain. The Floronic Man's livid and there's much force behind the punch on Tim's face. "You are nothing!"

"I am the friend of the Swamp Thing!" he yells back even as his jaw hurts. "You know him. Used to be Alec Holland. Calls the Bayou his home. He totally kicked your butt when you did this exact, same gimmick years back."

"Shut up!" Woodrue screams, hitting him again. It hurts. It feels like being hit by a log. "I'll kill you! I'll kill you, you sonavabitch. You and all the humans you hold dear. The animals. We will be left - the rightful owner of the planet. The Green -"

_Hoom._

There's a high-pitched teeny voice by his ear. 

_You. Are. Back. Woodrue._

Suddenly, multitude of tinny voices pipe around him. Tim blinks, bemused at the onslaught of thimble-sized Swamp Thing heads sprouting from the vines and twigs inside the barrow. They are all facing Woodrue with that disappointed look on their faces. 

Fear crosses the Floronic Man's visage but he manages to pull himself together.

"You have no power here, monster."

_I. Beg to. Differ. Evil. One._

"I am a Vessel," the former scientist insists. "I do what the Green demands."

_No,_ the mystical creature counters. _No. You. Do. Not._

Woodrue snarls, stomping the tiny heads underneath his feet. More heads sprout out to replaced the crushed ones.

__

Woodrue. 

__

The Swamp Thing sounds amused.

_If the humans. Animals are. Gone. Who gives. The air. We breathe?_

Then Tim feels it. The vines loosening, thorns pulling back. There's breaking and cracking sounds as the branches dry up and shrivel, and flowers and leaves wilt and fall. It's a relief yet also sad seeing all that wild beauty destroy itself.

Woodrue screams. He swears and curses, baring his rotting teeth at the little a Swamp Thing heads even as he punches the dying greenery with stiff knuckles. Finally he falls on his knees, crying and pleading for the plants not to leave him.

"Please, please, don't go," he sobs. "I am so lonely and there's a hole in my head... My heart is in pieces..."

The flora continues to die before their eyes, rejecting the mad man they had foolishly believed. The Pretender wails, pulling out tufts of sparse hair he has left before collapsing.

_I am. The. Green._

And Tim's friend is gone.


	9. Love is a Verb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick learns that sometimes actions do speak louder than words.

As soon as the flora begins to wilt, Nightwing's been barking orders to slice a path through the brambles. Superman's heat vision does quick work and the current Teen Titans - his Guide's friends - slip through before anyone else.

"Sorry I'm late, amigo." That's Wally, the current Flash, who zips to his side. "What I'd missed?"

"My Guide's in there," he answers, burying the worry deep down, as he climbs through the opening to the barrow, ignoring the sharp and brittle thorns tearing through his uniform.

"Your... Guide?” Flash’s double-take would have been comical if Nightwing weren’t sick with worry. “As in Guide you bonded with with your nether parts? As in someone you had aura-mingling sex with? As in the Guide to your Sentinel? As in -“

Nightwing growls. His friend merely barrages through with his questions.

“Man, when did this happen? Wait, wait - That whole time you're asking for my advice... that wasn't rhetorical? Why didn't you tell me? I thought we're buddies!"

Nightwing ignores the incredulity in his friend's voice. He needs to know what happened in the five minutes he allowed Red Robin to confront the monster. He had even blocked his Guide from the Martian Manhunter's telepathic scrutiny for good measure. Not that he doesn't trust J'onn... 

Who is he kidding? He doesn't trust just anyone when it comes to his Guide.

More sunlight streams through the gaps in the mound's walls. Enough light to reveal Superboy, Wonder Girl and Kid Flash’s efforts at freeing his exhausted Guide without hurting him any further. It doesn't help any that Tim is shaking.

Definitely not the time for questions.

He steps closer and tenderly touches his Guide’s cheek, if only to get his attention. Tim’s aura is so fragile, like being stretched too thinly. Any further could draw him into the maelstrom of emotions currently whirling around him. 

Dick would like nothing more than draw the young man into his arms and cover them both in his Sentinel aura to hide them from the world. If only for a short time.

He feels his brothers step behind him, ready to lend a helping hand should he ask. But Tim’s already free and had fallen onto his knees, his hands gripping Nightwing’s outstretched arms. Dick kneels close..

“Tim?”

“I’m… I’m good,” Tim whispers, his voice gravelly. “J-Just… t-too many… people…”

The worry and concern being exuded by the Sentinels in the vicinity are suffocating his Guide. His own aura is affecting his Guide. 

Tim’s friends are staring at him, awaiting his orders. He is, after all, Tim’s Sentinel. In his presence only he can dictate how his Guide could be handled especially in this delicate time. He cannot fail his Guide.

“Hey, Tim,” he calls, softly. He succeeds in getting his Guide’s attention as Tim’s weary eyes shift to his face, struggling to keep focused on him. “Would you like to go home?”

Tim does not answer. His eyes remain on Nightwing, unseeing and pained.

“Would you like to go home, Tim?” the Sentinel asks again. He worries that Tim might have already lost himself in trying to calm everyone until Tim finally nods

.

“Kon. Cassie. Bart.” His voice is crisp in that no-nonsense way as he gently pulls up his Guide to his feet. 

Superboy’s arms are already reaching for Tim and for a moment, Dick hesitates as he feels a tinge of fear he might not see his Guide again. He suppresses the feeling, knowing Tim will be in the safe hands of his best friends who are also the most powerful and experienced members of the Teen Titans.

“Bring him home,” he tells them, keeping his emotions in check. “Keep him safe. Please.”

Wonder Girl nods as she flies after Superboy, who’s carrying a now drowsy Red Robin while Kid Flash speeds forward, providing protection from the ground.

All the other heroes begin dismantling the barrow, comforting the hostages, and doing cleanup. Nightwing stands there for a time, eyes towards the direction where his Guide and his friends had left. He feels bereft. Wanting. Like a piece of his heart was torn off.

A hand on his shoulder.

“You hit the jackpot there, amigo.”

That's Flash, giving him the Man, how a sad sack like you snagged a classy Guide like that I’d never know! 

He grins then. 

“Yeah,” he laughs. “So I was told.”

****

It’s nearly dawn when they get back to the Batcave. Nightwing does not bother to slip out of his uniform when he climbs through the grandfather’s clock that serves as a secret door between the Manor and the Batcave. Nobody dares to remind him of Alfred Pennyworth’s no uniforms in Manor rule.

He opens one bedroom after another, softly calling for his Guide. His consternation is building at every step he makes.

“Ahem.”

“Alfred!” He feels relief. If anybody knows which room Tim is ensconced in it would be the indefatigable Alfred. “Where’s Tim? He is not the in med bay. I told them to bring him here! Why isn’t he here? He’s hurt and -“

“Master Richard!” the butler interrupts, an eyebrow lifted. “Breathe, young man. Breathe!”

Ire begins to rise within him but dies down quickly. This is Alfred. Not even the Batman dares to be angry at the elderly, long-suffering man who has been father, grandfather, counsellor, medic, tailor and carer to Bruce and the rest of the Wayne brood.

He takes two deep breaths before asking, “Alfred… Tim? Where is my Tim?”

“Master Timothy is well. He suffered only minor injuries and is merely in need of adequate rest and sleep. Thus, he is in the Drake Estate -“

“What?! What if somebody attacks him? Kidnaps him? Who’s taking care of him? I should go there -“

“You will stay here, Master Richard,” the butler chides sternly, eyes sharp. “Leave the poor boy alone for now. All these excitement has pushed his aura to its limits. He needs distance from Sentinels, especially those who are currently emitting intense emotions.”

“But Alfred -“

The man’s hand on his shoulder suddenly reminds him how exhausted he is.

“You need rest, too, my boy,” Alfred says gently. “Do not worry. Your Guide is safe. He is well. His friends had chosen to stay with him tonight for company and protection.”

“But Alfred… it hurts…” He drags his feet towards the nearest window facing southeast through which he catches a glimpse of Wayne Manor’s nearest neighbour. “It hurts that he’s so far away…”

“Now, now, young man. The Drake Estate is merely a stone’s throw away. You will see your Guide quite soon enough.”

He feels firm hands on his shoulders, steering him away to walk towards his bedroom. Alfred’s voice is calming and strangely hypnotic. He can’t find it in himself to protest anymore.

“But you first need to calm down and get some sleep, Master Richard. We’ve all had such a long day and a much needed rest will go a good way in strengthening you up. You’ll be back full of vim and vigour in no time.”

“Tim…”

“Is not going anywhere.”

Whatever Dick has to say is cut off by a wide yawn. His eyes are watery and he can hardly keep his lids open. He is swaying with only the butler’s firm hand keeping his upright. Alfred only has to push him through the open door before his body lands on his bed unerringly. 

Then he’s out like a light.


End file.
